Post Probie
by OzGeek
Summary: I found this really old story in my stores which I wrote just after Probie. I was annoyed about how much Gibbs expected from McGee given what he'd just been through. This is what happend after McGee didn't shoot the bad guy. Onshot no pun .


_I found this really old story tucked away on a hard disk when I was trying to hunt down my old fanfiction archive stories. I wrote it after Probie, so you can see how old it is. I was annoyed about how much Gibbs expected from McGee given what he'd just been through. It is set just after McGee doesn't shoot the bad guy and Gibbs is mad at him for second guessing himself. _

_It was called 'N1'. I suppose I should give a it more creative title. It's very disjointed which is probably why I left it in the vault for so long. I think I have canabilised some parts of this story for others over time so parts might seem familiar._

_**

* * *

**_

**Post Probie**

"Clear?"

"Clear!"

Gibbs pushed past him to call for a coroner leaving him to stare at his second dead body in less than a week. He was NEVER going to get used to this. An uneasy sense of calm descended on McGee: a feeling of closure accompanied by a hope that this nightmare week might end. Exhaustion, kept at bay by days of adrenaline, began to overtake him.

Another flashback to that dark night in the alley, the faces, the shots…

An icy shower washed over his body as the bile fought its way up from his stomach. His quivering knees told him he was either going to pass out or throw up: neither seemed like a good career move with Gibbs right behind him. As the darkness fell there was the rushing sound of something in his ears.

Gibbs' head was pounding. He had taken McGee with him for a reason and it was clear he might have a problem. He could not afford a weak link on his team.

Slamming the car's radio speaker back on the hanger, he spun to face McGee again. He was determined to keep at him until he cracked or toughened. Either way was fine but he had to know which was it was going to be.

He took two steps before he saw McGee convulse and topple heavily to the ground like a giant pillar.

"Face first," Gibbs grimaced. "That's gotta hurt." He broke into a sprint.

McGee woke to the harsh scratching of concrete on his right cheek and lips and a burning sensation in his mouth and throat. The panting was still with him but now his body seemed to have acquired an uncontrollable shaking. Someone was moving him - pulling his arms, shifting his weight, turning his head: someone clearly a lot lighter than he was. From the strong aroma of coffee, it had to be Gibbs. He began to appreciate how beached whales felt. Could this day get any worse? Death seemed like a good option.

Gibbs grunted as he hoisted McGee's limbs into a traditional first aid position. Either agents were getting heavier or he needed to hit the gym a bit more often. McGee's appearance was beginning to worry him: he was shaking, gasping and paler than some of the recipients of Ducky's one-way conversations.

McGee heard the distant sounds of car doors opening and his eyes opened involuntarily.

"Hang in there McGee," he heard Gibbs say. "They're coming." There was no emotion, no judgement, just a statement of fact.

McGee shut out the world again. He was so dreadfully tired; drained from days of stress, no sleep and little food.

Then someone was hitting his face lightly, calling his name, pinching his skin and causing a stinging sensation in his finger. He felt another sting in his thigh causing him to wonder mildly if he was in a fight with Lilliputians.

"Come on Timothy, wake up."

He forced his heavy lids apart and Ducky's face swam into view. He was still on the concrete but he didn't feel as appalling as the last time he had woken there.

"How long since you've eaten?" Ducky demanded.

"Don't know," McGee rasped.

"Your blood sugar's through the floor, you're dehydrated and suffering from exhaustion. I've given you a shot of glucose. When is the last time you slept?"

It took a moment for McGee to process the stream of information and to realise there was a question pending. He could almost see the flashing cursor impatiently waiting for input.

"Two, maybe three days." His mouth was so dry he could hardly speak.

"Here, take this, my boy." Ducky placed a straw in his mouth.

McGee sucked obediently and found precious cold water. He closed his eyes and sipped slowly, savouring every mouthful.

Ducky turned to Gibbs. "You expected him to have reflexes after the week he's had? Jethro…"

Gibbs looked up from McGee's form as Tony and Ziva's car pulled up.

"You took your time," he called out to them as they clambered out of the car.

"So, you finally killed McGee, Boss?" said Tony. "Been meaning to do that myself, someday."

"No," Gibbs retorted, "but if I wanted to, he would have been an easy shot. He hesitated, second guessed himself. Lucky one of us still has youth like reflexes."

"So he's lying here because….?"

"Combination of exhaustion, dehydration and low blood sugar," replied the Ducky shooting Gibbs a dark look. "And now, if Mr Palmer has finished the preliminaries, I think young Timothy should be getting home for a good night's sleep."

McGee hadn't realised how heavy his limbs were until he actually tried to move them. It seemed to take an inordinate amount of time, even with help, before he was unsteadily on his feet.

"Let's go, McGee," Gibbs was already heading to the car at a great pace.

McGee lumbered after him breaking into a sweat after only a handful of steps. Suddenly, Tony was there wrapping an arm around his back and dragging one of McGee's arms over his sturdy shoulders.

"Thanks Tony," McGee mumbled. Sometimes he marvelled that Tony could actually be humane when pressed.

"At least Gibbs' driving should keep me awake," he thought, as he climbed thankfully into the car

Then next moment Gibbs was waking him. It was dark, he was in the car seat and his neck was stiff down one side.

"Sorry, Boss," he slurred.

"Come on, big guy." It was Tony's voice.

The trip from the car to his apartment was like a dream. He kept blanking out only to be roused by the desperate cries of his two capitulating crutches. He did start suddenly as a hand groped his groin but relaxed when he realised they were only searching for a key.

Lying peacefully on his own bed, he drifted off to sleep to the sounds of Tony and Gibbs groaning with relief.


End file.
